Come And Shake Bones

She looked like a piece of meat. Not in the sexist sense, at least that would could have been taken as a compliment in a twisted misogynistic way. She however looked like a piece of pork, greased up and freshly tied with string ready for the oven. Her uncompromising thighs, bloated under the pressure of a 16 year old burden. He face reddened by a thousand blocked veins. Her sagging breast lay strewn across her chest unsupported like Dali's eggs dripping down her front. I danced with her for a short time, she tried to keep up but the beat to the commercial sound that suffocated the airways was too fast, staccato . Excited by the faintest of sexually charged attention, determined not to put a trotter wrong this time. Her slightly rosy quality was a endearing for a short time, but i soon grew weary of her. Pushed to the back of the room, she now sat alone and there she'll stay, and breathing cliche of repulsion. Sitting alone at the back, an endless monument to the forgotten masses. She soon turned to stone, granite I think it was.

Photograph by Paul Strand Entitled Blind. no copyright infringement intended.

Playboy Tre - Sideways (SALEM Drag Chop remix)
Big Boi - Shine Blockas (feat. Gucci Mane)
Gucci Mane - Dangers Not a Stranger

People Of The Sun

Mud fills your Lungs, with every heavy breath. Lost in a swap of loathing and obsession. I would pay anything just to get in through the doorway, and stand amongst the mess of people, with flailing limbs, elbows to my face and into my side. Sweat dripping down my brow, I don't want to take my coat off. The devil sits on his arm chair in middle England watching Saturday night television, flicking through the endless channels of filth and plastic; nothing really takes his fancy. He just ends up putting on a radio station and falling asleep: there is no greater blasphemy then having the radio on television. What would your mother say? Abstract thoughts scribbled down to fill a page. Dogs eat their own tails and cats shed their skins in the world hazy with fumes and sounds like strange hands forced into to my ears. I pretend to listen, and nod with a vacant smile draped across my face, and a balding woman with cracking skin tells me about her weekend. Perched on my chair with wheel, with my unironed shirt and father's tie burning into my skin. When they say, Jump, I say, Fucking jump yourself, you capitalist swine. That great canyon of silence growing between us, after all this is just a stream of consciousness. Sleep, Wake Up, Sleep Again



Painting Titled Execution by Yue Minjun. No Copyright Infringement Intented.

Pink Priest - Those Paws
Biopolar Bear - Graves
Salem - Frost

Do you think they're ready for Bonnie?

I wandered through the hallway into a room full of children, immediately gravitating towards the supposed "adult section" of the room, pushing past the private eyes that watched my entrance. The line between child and adult defined with a line of vomit strewn across the floor. It was Homecoming, or Graduation, I couldn't quite remember. The Nocturnal youth lay under a net of puberty, crawling and scratching at the rope that held them down. I walked over to the caged children, "it's mind over matter". I hoped my words would give them some solace, in their time of sexual confusion. I took a seat by the breakfast bar while people jumped and stomped on the table tops and screamed and kissed. Pouring my £7 wine into a white plastic cup. An older woman approached me. She sat down next to me and we discussed my future; where I thought my life was taking me, what path should I choose. She expressed a obvious worry about the number of youths that had crawled in. I told her to lock the doors at 10:30, after that let no more enter. She calmed her down and we poured more wine into our plastic cups. She talked about Chekhov, I hadn't read any of his work but I promised I would.

Gareth Williams And Mary Currie - The Best Weapon
SALEM - Frost



Photo of Lida Baarova, 7/9/1914 in Prague. No Copyright infringement intended

Re-word, Sentence, Page 54

‘But any need in a street, the warrens through which the very aim chances, resulted in lengthy sensuous confusions.’ More are saying that of the year but Victorian cathedrals that once transcended on any doubt or shadow, of a simple builder’s paraphrase of a god, arose, long ago, bent in smoke and fright. The improvisation of moments in time could not own any cruel direction, but it’s not actual, so it’s out, not in, of network. What belts, not from leather, were, long ago, about in forests? What be of intentions for whatever. Now of the flies, flowing back toward industrial excrement and to windowless, gothic states, drive existence from god’s zenith, fashioning some to-be suitable, apical locus and approaching rats climb the brick, shrugging, but in a derangement, as they escape mercy of –

David Bowie - I'm Afraid Of Americans

Michael Jackson - Billie Jean (Home Demo 1981)

Salem - Skullcrush